I publish these tales here on this site every weekend as mental escape. Enjoy them, but do not steal them. If you do, I will come to your window while you are sleeping, my friend.
Blogger is my external hard drive. I hope that it always will exist. Even after the satellites fall from the sky,
and our tiny sun named Sol becomes a giant red dwarf and consumes our planet,
along with Mercury and Venus. Nothing will be left of us. No tombstones, no books, no love letters, no
carbon.
Yet, we have sent off Voyager One and Two to sail along into
the ocean of stars, as minuscule space travelers beyond our heliosphere, as a
record that we have existed.
Our transmissions, our radio and television programs, our
cell phone calls, and our texts and tweets,
Well,
They will be dissipated by the heliosphere outside of our
tiny solar system, lost alone, on the fringe of the arm of our own galaxy.
So live how you will.
Write how you will.
Enjoy this opportunity to be here. The idea of a fresh fruit, of first love, of
pleasure from reading:
It means that there is indeed, something more.
Perhaps?
Now for songs for the next part. Now to get writing this thing. There are so many songs to hear out
there. I’ll just try to keep up. I’ll try to select one or two. It’s hard work, but it’s a lot of fun.
Please consider purchasing the songs of these artists. Hell, at least watch the advertisements and consider purchasing those wares as well.. It keeps all of this free to view. Ya know?
We damned punks held together as a Tribe, come what
may. That was our only saving grace.
So many opportunities to explore now. The world is a vast sea, and we have small
boats. Our pens are our oars. The sea is made of black ink. The sand on the beach is where we write our
experiences, to be washed away by the tide.
It's been four months, and I really need to do this. It's for me, but I share it with the intention of creating honest, original creative work, as is the spirit of the original Arpanet. Google will protect me because of this. I truly acknowledge this. YES. This is the beginning of the second part of the Trilogy
TUNES
VERSION ONE
THE RIDE BACK Part One
Inventory of supplies:
People:
Joey, my best friend, a smallish man with an angry temper,
who could hold his own in a fist fight with giants. He was the Instigator, but he never bailed
from what he had done. He simply loved
to engage, to stir up the mud and see what laid beneath. More often than not, he laid many fine
mistresses of his own encounter. It was
this: Joey sought Trvth.
Sean, my other best friend, who tried to control everything,
if you let him have the chance. He
needed to be thwarted at every misstep, or he would take over. He did this because he was very capable of
being correct most of the time. He was a
large, muscular man who also engaged, instead of whimpering in fear. However, he was now taken over by a Walk-In
named Seen. He was gone from our
enclave. Seen Walked along the dark
heart of Fuckno, and he was the one who would cause all ruin.
Tellesco was a large man who searched for Sean like a lost
puppy dog, but for good reason. The good Sean, still encased within his own
body, but held by Seen, has once saved Tellesco. He was also the savior of the lost, much as he
was. He would save them from the ugly,
despicable actions and behavior of them Purple Robes, even though he cried all
the time. Perhaps that was his raison
d’etre. Who knows?
Sinister Minister Glinty McFlintlock, a long dead cowboy
preacher from the days of the Wild West.
He also perished at the hands of them damned Purple Robes, who now owned
and controlled the hell of Fuckno. His
flock was now those who also perished in such a manner. He sought to lead them to redemption.
Fat Jerry the purple-haired punk rocker who was a large
angry baby. His anger created the winds
of vehemence. This would lead to the
destruction of Fuckno. We simply did not
know this at the time. Hell, even he did
not know this.
Me. A whimpering
coward. I always made this sound when
encountering something that I really did not want to do, but would have to do
it anyway. Rrrrrghhhh. I am a Red Man. But I was lost in the desert, away from my
Tribe that held residence on the islands of a mighty River in the east of what
is now known as the USA.
Katheena. She was my
true love. She died at the hands of them
Purple Robes, in a car crash during a rainy night in the desert, trying to
chase us, to protect us dammed punk bastards.
Now she was back, and her fury could create icicles form the water vapor
in the air. Figuratively. But also, literally.
Lorelei. She was my
rebound after Katheena dropped me when that one became infatuated with an
Alderman. Lorelei was also German. She taught me how to be a punk. Yes she did.
That was my new Tribe, there in the desert. The rest of them were from the other
side. Some would join us. Some would be our mortal enemies.
The most curious one is Emeralda. She was the one who held all of the knowledge
and history of them fucked Purple Robes.
We had yet to meet her. She was
now a Walk-In, and a cannibal one at that.
Sven Slindlivrinn was the most evil, despicable man to ever
exist, from the behavior and path of his life, and also for creating the
opening to the gates of Hell, and causing the Walk-Ins to become cannibals upon
Earth.
Lenny was to become Sven’s compatriot, his own personal
hellion.
There was an angel, arisen from a dusty grave under the
first mansion of them damned Purple Robes, buried after her own slaughter next
to her own mother, but not buried with her.
This is the first chapter in the second part of this
trilogy.
God Help Us All.
---willies out.
Need to continue to research my tale to get back into this. Yup.
Also, thank you Google, and my friend YES, for allowing me to write this out of me addled head on this fine Blogger site, for free. I enjoy the fact that it will exist for perpetuity.
I also do my best to view 15 and 30 second advertisements of folks showing me their wares, for that is proper. The longer ones are also, quite often, very entertaining as well.
Emeralda ran back to her body lying there on the ground and
pulled it over, front-side down. It was
quite heavy for a lithe, toned body, like pulling a bag of wet sand. She thrust her big, meaty hands into the tiny
rear pocket of the pants to grab the vehicle keys inside.
This startled her. It
felt like she was touching a part of her own body that had fallen asleep, like
when you awaken in the night to discover that your arm has gone numb beneath
you.
Such a cute little behind.
Hell, she’d worked out on her body after the two kids she birthed, and
she did it for the right reason: to be strong and healthy for come what may.
She felt like a pervert on her own body. That was also quite weird. It is the bane of the new Walk-In to find
their own dead body, from the vantage point of the new, borrowed body they now
inhabit. It can cause shock. A drop in
blood pressure, cold sweats, and dizziness…
She began to feel faint, but she growled and she pulled
those keys out and she stood right the hell up.
She breathed in a deep breath to chase the sparkles of fainting
away. She saw folks running towards her
from the side of the house.
Fight or flight?
She made the wrong decision minutes before, and she wouldn’t
let this happen again. Her wrong
decision was a late decision. When you
wait too long, then the decision will be made for you.
She ran to the vehicle and reached it and fumbled with the
keys to slide the right one in and unlock the door. This time, it worked. She did not drop those keys.
She slid her huge body in and found that the front bench
seat of the Suburban was pulled way up close to the steering wheel.
She slammed the door shut, locked the door, and pushed the
key into the ignition and started the engine.
It growled: alive.
That was when the hungry cannibals arrived at the vehicle
and began to try to bust the windows to get at her.
Her baby cried, it wailed in its carrier on the seat beside
her. It was hungry.
Everyone was hungry, all around her.
Then she saw their heads turn to the rear of the
vehicle. Through the busted-out window
of the smashed rear-end, her baby’s cries rang loud and clear.
An opening?
A way inside?
She saw them run to the rear, to climb in, to devour her
baby.
Her panic made her want to drive off, but they would chase
the heavy vehicle, and some would clamber inside.
She made an executive decision that only a mother can do.
She waited for a moment as they pushed against each other
and clawed to get back there, as she slid the transmission gear into reverse,
and held one foot on the brake pedal, and hovered the other over the
accelerator.
She held her breath, biting her lip, and she resisted the
urge to cry. It was too much. How could this be happening? Was this truly the end times?
Fuck all, she thought, if I just pushed my own dead body
over to get my own keys, then I am either losing my mind, or this is all too
real. Either way, we are all fucked.
Those bastards had killed her other daughter in that damned
house---
NO. (push this
thought away for now, just make it through this...)
She began to shake as she waited for two seconds that felt
like a pebble drifting downward in a far of honey. She pushed panic away. (For just a gawd dayamned minute or two, pleeeease)
And then a change in her occurred.
How dare they?
How the FUCK Dare They?
WHO THE FUCK DO THEY THINK THEY ARE?
She growled low and long. It came from her guts, and she did not even know that she was doing this.
She saw that they were en masse behind her, fighting to be
the first to climb inside.
She screamed, and it roared from the diaphragm of the large
man whose body she now inhabited.
She said, “FUCK YOU TO HELL.”
Emeralda stepped on the throttle. The tires squealed and the huge vehicle leaped
back in a burst of speed.
The thump of faces smacking the metal and the smack of heads
hitting the asphalt made her grin.
She kept going, feeling their bodies tumble under the
chassis in a dance with each other; a tango of bloody roses. The large vehicle hopped and bounced in angry
joy.
She skidded to a halt with bloody, wet tires, and she saw
them writhing in pain. It was a red salad of broken bodies trying to
untangle, to crawl back onto the lawn with smashed arms and legs.
She saw flattened faces with tire treads on them.
This made her smile even more.
Other people ran from across the street and dove at this
mess, and pulled flesh up to their mouths.
Emeralda said, “Huh. The end times have come. There is nothing left.”
Then she pushed the transmission into Drive and she ran over
the crowd of hungry Walk-In cannibals, and she drove off down the sunny lane.
+ + +
+ + + + +
+
Up on the north part of the ugly megatropolis of Fuckno,
where the air blew fresh and sweet, we damned punks rode in a huge white
utility truck, stolen from the electrical power company.
Indeed, only a couple of us had witnessed the army of blue
ghosts that stretched off in a line a mile wide.
Katheena had brought them to us. Glinty McFlintlock was their preacher, and
their savior. He revealed the door to
their salvation, but it was war that held the key.
After how they had each perished at the hands of them Purple
Robes a century ago, they were ready to make war. It was time for retribution.
Joey looked at me and said, “Weeeeeee-ill. You up for this shit?”
